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POEMS 


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PAESTUM 

and  Other  Poems 


PAESTUM 

and  Other  Poems 

By   ALEXANDER 
BLAIR  THAW 


BRENTANO'S 

NEW  YORK 

KEGAN  PAUL,  TRENCH,  TRUBNER  &  Co. 
LONDON  LTD. 

1909 


To  my 
Florence 


£-,  x?  < 

JV  f)    nr    v^ 
IV  I  ..*    ^ 


Contents 


PAGE 

Paestum  / 

To  Shelley  and  Keats  in   Rome  M 

The  Christinas  Tree  i'J 
The  Song  of  the  Rivets 
The  Passing  of  the  Potent. 
In  the  Giant  Forest   of  the  Sierras 
An   Inauguration  Ode  —  To  the  American  People 

Lincoln's  Birth  41 

When  Chaos  dwelt  on   Larth  43 

To  the  Great  God   Pan  44 

To  Homer  -  4o 

The  Silent  Heart  47 

To  F.  T.  Si 

The  Life  Spirit  52 

Out  of  the  South    -  54 

To  Poetry— I.  56 

11.  57 

111. 5S 


6  CONTENTS. 

Close,   Close  my  Heart       -  59 

Love,   the   Gardener  -             60 

By  some  Light  Touch  -              61 

You  Whispered,  Love  62 

For  You  and  Me    -  63 

Love's  Blind   Eyes  -  -             -             64 

To   "The  Maiden"  65 

Venus  Victrix  69 

The  Venus  of  Milo — Venus  Genetrix         -  70 

The  Earth  Song  7! 

To   Robert  Louis  Stevenson  72 

In  Memoriam,  R.L.S.  —  The  Light-house  Builder 's 

Son  73 

To  a  Laureate  of  Empire  -  76 

Fulfilment     -  -              -              80 

A    Fragment  83 

Time  g^ 

With  Burning  Hearts  85 

Notes  to  "Paestum"  86 


PAESTUM. 


STILL,  Paestum,  on  thy  lonely  shore 

The  long  waves  break.     Ah  would,  once  more, 

Out  of  that  ocean's  foam 

The  great  sea-god  might  come, 
Now,  as  of  yore  ! 

Here  on  thy  plain  of  shifting  sands 
This  shrine,  the  first  that  mortal  hands 

Built  by  the  Western  sea, 

Full  of  strange  mystery, 
All  silent,  stands. 

Thy  temple  builders  all  are  gone  ; 
Darkly  the  Western  sea  rolls  on  : 

Still,  in  this  flower-strewn  space 

Of  grass,  thy  temples  face 
East,  and  the  dawn. 

Thy  worshippers  are  fast  asleep, 

And,  where  thy  city  was,  the  sheep 
Feed  midst  those  strange,  pale  flowers, 
Which  through  thy  dreaming  hours 
Their  long  watch  keep. 


PAESTUM. 

And  as  the  seawind,  rising,  swells, 
Thy  spirit  wakes.     The  asphodels 

Whisper  thy  dreams  ;    there  pass 

Dim  shadows  o'er  the  grass  : 
By  such  strange  spells, 

Back  through  the  open  gates  of  death 

Thy  spirit  freely  wandereth  ; 
And  from  far  ages  past 
Blows,  through  the  years,  at  last 
A  living  breath. 

This  is  no  wanton  Southern  breeze, 
But  on  our  hearts,  and  o'er  thy  seas, 

Sweeps  the  fierce  gale  that  once 

Brought  hither  first  the  sons, 
And  songs,  of  Greece. 

Sailors  and  traders  from  all  parts 

Of  that  young  world,  they  brought  the  arts 

That  ever  shall  endure 

While  burns  youth's  ardent,  pure 
Fire  in  young  hearts. 

With  them  came  those  bright  gods,  to  aid, 
And  goddesses  :  for  whom  they  made 

Shrines  on  this  alien  shore, 

Where  yet  no  man  before 
Aspiring,  prayed. 


PAESTUM. 

Where  the  great  sea-god's  steeds  of  war 
Fling  their  white  line  of  foam  afar, 
And  thick  sea-mists  arise, 
Blotting  from  thy  clear  skies 
Each  guiding  star, 

Fearless  the  sons  of  Hellas  roam, 
And  follow  still  that  line  of  foam, 

Past  many  perilous  coasts, 

Till  in  this  land  their  hosts 
Found  a  new  home. 

Athene,  with  the  arts  of  peace, 
Bringing  the  olive,  gave  increase 

To  all  her  sons,  whose  toil 

Should  sanctify  the  soil 
Of  this  new  Greece. 

Paestum,  eternal  youth  was  thine, 
Whose  children  from  the  Achaean  line 
Of  Argos  had  their  birth, 
And  shared  the  might  and  mirth 
Of  gods  divine. 

For  centuries  endured  thy  youth, 
And  knew  no  sorrow,  save  in  sooth, 

Such  shadows  as  presage 

The  coming  on  of  age, 
That  knows  no  ruth. 


io  PAESTUM. 

Thy  sons,  whose  faith  these  temples  made, 
Facing  the  East,  with  death's  dark  shade 

Went  forth,  to  dwell  among 

Those  heroes  Homer  sung, 
All  unafraid. 

Thy  daughters  worshipped  without  fear 
Demeter  wandering,  far  and  near, 
Those  fields  of  asphodels 
Where  her  lost  daughter  dwells  : 
And  twice  each  year 

Thy  roses  bloomed  ! l  Thy  maidens  wrought 
Late  wreaths  for  her  as  still  she  sought, 
O'er  the  wide  earth,  her  child 
Who,  with  each  spring,  the  wild 
Spring  roses  brought. 

Thy  virgins  worshipped,  without  shame. 
That  sea-born  goddess,  at  whose  name, 

Within  love's  frightened  eyes, 

Under  thy  sunlit  skies, 
Love's  first  hope  came. 

And  when  Poseidon  angry  grows, 
Safe  from  old  ocean  still,  thy  rose 

Puts  forth  her  fragrant  leaf; 

And  thou  art  free  from  grief, 
Safe  from  all  foes. 


PAESTUM.  ii 

Safe  !  O  alas  !  Down  on  their  knees 
Thy  sons  who  ruled  o'er  this  new  Greece 

Now  bend,  with  bitter  tears 

Weeping  their  long  lost  years 
Of  power  and  peace. 

Forth  from  the  mountains  come  fierce  waves 
Of  savage  men  ;  and  no  god  saves 

Thy  children  from  their  hands, 

E'en  where  this  temple  stands 
To  dwell  as  slaves  ; 

Who,  grateful  for  their  captors'  scorn, 
Come  yearly  now,  a  band  forlorn, 

To  sing  the  mighty  songs 

Of  old  ;   and  their  new  wrongs, 
Mutely,  to  mourn.  •' 

And  now  !  The  singers  all  are  dumb  ; 
Though  vainly  still  their  children  thrum 

The  broken  strings.     And  yet,— 

That  Song, — who  shall  forget  ! 
The  bees  still  hum 

On  steep  Hymettus  as  of  yore, 
And  hark,  along  thy  lonely  shore, 

Float  far  off  melodies 

Up  from  the  distant  seas, 
As  once,  before  ! 


12  PAESTUM. 

Still  shines  the  same  bright  sun  that  shone 
That  morning  o'er  the  Parthenon, 

When,  taking  wisdom's  vows, 

Men  built  Athene's  house 
In  that  first  dawn  ; 

And  Phoebus  brought  the  gift  of  song, 
That  joined  all  Hellas,  one  glad  throng 

Where,  on  the  Delphic  slope, 

The  fire  of  human  hope 
Burned  clear  and  strong. 

Cold  are  thine  altars  ;  yet  the  same 
Spirit  abides  within  that  flame, 

Which  in  thy  shrine  was  lit, 

Or  in  our  hearts  hath  writ 
Some  holy  Name. 

Far  o'er  the  Western  seas  that  beat 
On  shores  unknown  to  thee,  our  feet 

Have  brought  us  to  that  place, 

Where  in  the  end  the  ways 
Of  all  men  meet, 

And  women's  hearts,     Though  now  we  roam 
O'er  wider  seas,  that  line  of  foam 
Reveals  the  storm-swept  shore 
Where  wre  must  build  once  more 
Thy  spirit's  home. 


PAESTUM. 

Beyond  the  dim  Hesperides, 

Or  where,  in  yon  dark  Western  seas, 

Thy  golden  sun  hath  set, 

For  ever  wandereth  yet 
Thy  soul,  O  Greece  ! 


TO  SHELLEY  AND  KEATS  IN  ROME 


TO  SHELLEY  AND    KEATS    IN    ROME. 


TWIN  sons  of  sky  and  earth,  like  that  great  pair 

Who  last  were  seen  of  mortals,  watering 
Their  steeds,  at  dawn,  by  Vesta's  temple  stair ! 

Three  columns  watch  by  Rome's  once  sacred  spring, 
Where  still  their  altar  stands,  inviolate 

Amidst  a  world  of  ruin  ;   where  mosses  cling, 
And  those  sweet  ferns  which  now  we  consecrate 

Unto  the  name  of  Venus,  virgin,  pure  ; 
On  whose  high  worship,  still,  your  twin  souls  wait  ! 

We  spoil  her  sacred  springs.     Yet  shall  endure 

Beauty  on  earth,  and  in  that  ocean's  spray 
Which  in  great  waves  of  grief  swept  over  your 

Young  lives, — till,  rising  from  the  foam  that  lay 
LTpon  your  drowned  lips,  she  had  new  birth, 

Breathing  your  songs.     And  still,  beneath  the  sway 
Of  that  great  goddess,  smiles  the  fruitful  earth, 

Since,  on  the  wind-swept  shores  of  Greece,  she  rose 
Before  men's  wondering  eyes.     Darkness  and  dearth 

Fly  from  her  face  ;  who  yet  shall  bring  strange  woes 


TO  SHELLEY  AND  KEATS  IN  ROME 

To  all,  among'  her  mortal  worshippers, 

Who  seek  to  see  her.     Still  the  worship  grows, 
And  since  your  yearning  spirits  caught  from  hers 

Some  living  secret,  seeing  in  your  dreams 
That  power  of  awful  loveliness  which  stirs 

Deep  at  life's  heart,  with  swift,  revealing  gleams 
Of  her  shy  beauty,  still  she  comes  to  you, 

By  desolate  seas,  and  on  the  running  streams 
Among  the  mountains, — and  in  fire  and  dew. 

She  comes  in  clouds,  storm-driven,  fierce  lightnings 
Revealing  her,  in  visible  might,  even  through^ 

Tempest  and  thunder  filling  the  far  springs 
Of  earth,  with  the  sweet  rain,  and  the  dim  air 

With  her  bright  veil  of  light, — wherein  all  things 
Are  clothed,  as  with  her  raiment.     But  you  share 

Some  part  of  her  deep  spirit,  whose  dread  power 
Stirs  in  your  hearts  until  they  break,  and  bear 

Fruit  in  your  songs  ;  wherein  her  thoughts,  that 

flower 
In  simple  Beauty,  ripen  to  that  Truth 

We  live  upon.     Though  daily  we  devour 
This  fruit,  yet  Time,  and  Change,  that  knows  no  ruth, 

Find  at  its  heart  a  living"  seed  there  lies,— 
And  in  your  songs  there  dwells  eternal  youth. 

The  coming  generations,  as  they  rise, 

Feed  on  such  living  truth  as  you  have  sung  ; 

And  still  the  name  of  Keats,  beneath  the  skies, 
Is  like  a  seed,  by  running  waters  flung, 


i6  TO  SHELLEY  AND  KEATS  IN  ROME 

Whereof  new  flowers  shall  blossom  to  the  end 
Of  all  the  years,  to  keep  the  world's  heart  young. 

And  thou,  whose  heart,  uplifted  to  defend 

That  name,  Love  gave  strong  wings,  and  grace  to  reach 
Life's  farther  freedom,  mourning  for  thy  friend  ! 

Forth  from  thy  heart,  on  earth's  bare,  sterile  beach, 
Grow  flowers  of  fire  ;  and  o'er  the  world  there  flies 

Love's  fire-born,  fertile  pollen,  as,  on  each 
Wild  wind  that  blows,  still  from  that  pyre  arise 

Thy  deathless  ashes,  filling  all  the  air, 
Yet  no  more  sure  than  love  to  find  where  lies 

That  other  flame,  though  seeking  everywhere. 
But  thy  words,  Shelley  !  are  as  bees,  that  strive 

To  pierce  the  heart  of  Beauty,  and  to  bear 
Sweet  burden  back  for  all  our  swarming  hive. 

Even  so,  like  bees,  all  unaware  they  bring 
To  every  open  flower,  each  soul  alive, 

Through  all  the  world,  on  swift,  untiring  wing, 
That  wonder-making  thought  which  thou  hast  heard 

Her  flower-like  lips  to  utter.     Thou  dost  sing 
The  song  of  silent  hearts,  and  with  a  word 

Waken  the  seeds  of  life  ;  O,  not  in  vain 
We  still  await  the  touch  of  power  that  stirred 

Life  into  being  first.     In  the  sweet  strain 
Of  thy  swift,  poignant  music,  Liberty 

Is  born,  breathing  great  gasps  of  life,  through  pain 
Of  mortal  labour  brought  to  light ;  that  we 

Who  bear  the  sorrows  of  the  pregnant  earth 


TO  SHELLEY  AND  KEATS  IN  ROME 

May  join  in  her  rejoicing,  and  go  free 

Beneath  the  open  sky.     Sharing  sweet  mirth 
With  her  bright,  soaring  birds,  thy  soul  doth  sing 

Liberty  !  Through  fiery  pangs  of  birth, 
In  that  one  word,  the  far,  foreshadowing, 

Dim  thought  of  love  in  earth's  deep  spirit  thrills 
To  life,  upon  thy  lips,  awakening 

The  sacred  streams,  which,  pouring  from  the  hills 
Of  her  sweet  bosom,  ever  fresh  arise, 

To  feed  her  child  of  love, — which  she  distils 
Deep  in  her  mother  heart.     Beneath  dark  skies 

Thy  spirit  saw  the  light  that  comes  before 
The  dawn  ;  to  earth's  faint,  distant,  low  replies 

Thy  heart  hath  ever  listened.     Hark  once  more 
The  soul  of  Adonais,  calling  thee 

Forth  from  the  deep,  back  to  this  earthly  shore  ! 

O,  hear  that  cry  !  Beside  the  wintry  sea 

We  watch  thy  promised  coming  of  the  spring, 
When  mortal  loveliness,  with  liberty, 

Immortal,  joins.     O,  brave  companioning! 
Kissed  by  the  warm  west  wind,  his  earthly  flowers 

Come  forth  amidst  the  sand.     On  level  wing, 
Twin  messengers  of  peace,  with  unseen  powers, 

On  your  great  quest  you  come  ;  and,  side  by  side, 
Still  lead  the  way  in  this  strange  war  of  ours. 

Like  those  great  brothers  twain  who  once  did  ride 
Before  the  Roman  legions,  lead  us  on 


1 8  TO  SHELLEY  AND  KEATS  IN  ROME 

Through  the  thick  dust  of  battle  !  O,  still  guide 

Our  steps  through  the  long  day  !  The  night  is  gone; 

The  stars  are  fading  in  the  azure'  dome  ; 

And  freedom,  with  the  coming  of  the  dawn, 

Gives  you  her  greeting  on  the  hills  of  Rome. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    TREE  ig 


THE    CHRISTMAS   TREE. 


WANDERING  tribes  now  roam 

The  hills  of  Lebanon, 
Knowing  not  house  nor  home  ; 

Gone  the  great  cedars,  gone 
That  temple  built  of  them 
Once,   in  Jerusalem. 

Once,  through  the  groves  of  Greece, 
Down  from  the  Delphic  slope, 

Rang  their  great  songs  of  peace, 
Filled   with  a  burning  hope, 

Bearing  strange  prophecy 

Of  mortal   liberty. 

Once  our  forefathers  heard, 

Under  the  sacred  oak, 
Some  strangely  muttered  word, 

Whispered  by  tongues  that  spoke 
Forth  from  the  Druid  tree, 
Darkly,  of  things  to  be. 


20  THE    CHRISTMAS     TREE 

Though  to  our  senseless  ears 
The  leaves  no  longer  sing, 

Yet,  through  the  lapse  of  years, 
A  still  small  voice  doth  bring 

Peace  upon  earth  again, 

And  freedom  to  all  men. 


Set  on  a  little  hill, 

Over  a  world  that  grieves, 
One  living  tree  shall  still 

Scatter  its  healing  leaves, 
Gathered  for  our  distress 
Out  of  the  wilderness. 


Out  of  the  desert  wild 

Comes,  with  a  heavenly  voice, 
News  of  a  new-born  child, 

Bidding  the  world  rejoice, 
Bringing  all  those  who  roam 
Back  to  each  earthly  home. 

Now  all  the  fruitful  earth 
With  heaven  is  reconciled, 

Since,  on   each  sacred  hearth, 
And  in  her  forests  wild 

Under  the  open  skies, 

Songs  of  pure  love  arise. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    TREE  21 

Close  by  the  tree  of  life 

The  tree  of  knowledge  grows  ; 
And,  through  our  wars  and  strife, 

Up  from  the  world's  deep  woes, 
Where  the  dark  roots  entwine, 
Is  born  the  Word  divine. 

Out  of  much  suffering 

Still  those  mute  altars  rise, 
Where  perfect  love  shall  bring 

Life's  willing  sacrifice, 
And  little  children  bear 
Earth's  holy  promise  there. 

Now,  through  the  least  of  these, 

Heaven  on  earth  is  come  ; 
Now  the  dark  forest  trees 

Speak,  and  no  more  are  dumb, 
And  a  child's  heart  shall  be 
Fruit  of  this  fertile  tree. 


Hark,  in  this  burning  bush, 
Brought  from  the  silent  grove, 

Out  of  that  holy  hush 

Wakens  the  word  of  love, 

Which  o'er  the  world,  new-born, 

Hovers,  this  happy  morn. 


22  THE    SONG    OF    THE    RIVERS 


THE   SONG    OF    THE    RIVERS, 


THE  words  of  the  wind  and  the  trees 

Shall  be  heard  by  the  dreamer  of  dreams  ; 

But  the  voices  of  fountains  and  streams 
Ever  echo  the  sound  of  the  breeze, 

And  the  heart  of  the  silent  wood 

Cries  aloud  in  the  rivers  at  flood. 

Hark  to  the  song  of  the  rivers 

As  they  sing  on  their  way  to  the  sea, 
As  they  tell  of  the  things  that  shall  be  ! 

Tellers  of  visions  they  are,  great  givers 
Of  life  to  each  mortal  thing. 
Oh,  hark  to  the  music  they  sing  ! 

How  they  go  on  their  way  with  rejoicing  ; 
Bright  daughters  are  they  of  the  sun, 
Ever  growing  in  strength  as  they  run  ; 

As  they  flow  on  forever,  still  voicing 

Vague  secrets  of  death  and  of  birth 

Which  they  brought  from  the  womb  of  the  earth  ! 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    RIVERS  23 

Hark,  the  wild  music  that  swells 

From  the  heart  of  the  sacred  wood  ! 

Where  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good 
And  of  evil  is  growing, — where  dwells, 

In  the  leaves  of  the  living  tree, 

The  lone  spirit  of  prophecy. 

All  faint  were  those  whisperings 

By  the  leaves  of  the  forest  first  spoken  ; 

But  their  promise  ne'er  shall  be  broken,— 
For  they  gave  to  the  listening  springs 

Life,  with  strange  powers  to  fulfil 

The  might  of  the  forest's  will. 


24  THE    PASSING    OF    THE    FOREST 


THE    PASSING   OF   THE    FOREST. 


As  long  as  the  forest  shall   live, 

The  streams  shall  flow  onward,  still  singing 
Sweet  songs  of  the  woodland,  and  bringing 

The   bright,  living  waters  that  give 
New  life  to  all  mortals  who  thirst, — 
But  the  races  of  men  shall  be  cursed. 

Yea,  the  hour  of  destruction  shall  come, 
To  the  children  of  men  in  that  day 
When  the  forests  shall  pass  away  ; 

When  the  low  woodland  voices  are  dumb  ; 
And  death's  devastation  and  dearth 
Shall  be  spread  o'er  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Avenging  the  death  of  the  wood, 
The  turbulent  streams  shall  outpour 
Their  vials  of  wrath,  and  no  more 

Shall  their  banks  hold  back  the  high  flood, 
Which  shall  rush  o'er  the  harvests  of  men; 
And,  as  swiftly  receding  again, 


THE    PASSING    OF    THE    FOREST 

Lo  !  after  the  flood  shall  be  dearth, 
And  the  rain  no  longer  shall  fall 
On  the  parching  fields  ;  and  a  pall, 

As  of  ashes,  shall  cover  the  earth  ; 
And  dust  clouds  shall  darken  the  sky  ; 
And  the  deep  water  wells  shall  be  dry. 

And  the  rivers  shall  sink  in  the  ground, 
And  every  man  cover  his  mouth 
From  the  thickening  dust,  in  that  drouth  ; 

Fierce  famine  shall  come  ;  and  no  sound 
Shall  be  borne  on  the  desolate  air 
But  a  murmur  of  death  and  despair. 


26       IN  THE  GIAXT  FOREST  OF  THE  SIERRAS 


IN   THE   GIANT   FOREST    OF   THE   SIERRAS 

YE  first  of  living  things  ! 

Ye  that  were  goodly  trees 
When  the  great  King  of  Kings, 

Building  his  garden  wall, 
Brought  down  to  Babylon, 

Upon  her  streams,  the  tall 
Cedars  of  Lebanon. 

Ye  mighty  trees  ! 
Ye  which  are  first,  of  all 
Kings  of  the  wildwood  ! 

Over  the  earth  and  seas 

Here  we  are  come  at  last, 
Weary  with  wanderings, 

Down  at  your  feet  to  fall  ; 
Here,  by  your  mountain  springs, 

Silent  and  all  alone, 
Through  the  long  ages   past, 

High  on  your  granite  throne 
Ye  stood  in  your  glory. 


7AT  THE  GIANT  FOREST  OF  THE  SIERRAS       27 

Mighty  ye  grew  in  girth, 
Brother  by  brother 

Bending  your  mighty  knees 
Down   to  the   lap   of  earth, 
While   the  great  mother 
Still  to  your  listening  ears 

Whispered  her  story, 
Tales  of  our  wandering  years, 

Tales  of  our  childhood. 

Here  on  the  mother's  lap, 

WThen  earth  was  young, 

Your  slender  rootlets  clung, 
Like  tender  fingers  pressed 
Close  to  her  maiden  breast  ; 

Then  first  the  living  sap 

Leaped  from  her  bosom. 

Now  you  are  mighty  trees,— 
Full  forty  centuries 
Past,  since  that  morn, 

When  on  these  stony  hills 

Bloomed  your  first  blossom. 

Led  by  your  mountain  rills, 
We  greet  you,  great  brothers,  first-born 
Of  our  mother,  the  earth  ! 
Here,  in  the  heart  of  the   hills, 


28       I  A"  THE  GIANT  FOREST  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

Where  you  dwell 
And  forever  have  dwelt, 
The  great  mother  first  felt 
Through  her  virgin  repose 

The  quickening  spell 

Of  your  birth. 

And  under  the  snows 
Of  these  hills  of  her  breasts, 

Where  they  rise, — 
Where  they  lift  their  pure  crests 

To  the  skies,— 
Deep  under  the  ground, 
Where  your  strong  roots  are  wound, 

Her  delicate  veins 
Writh  your  growth  have  grown  ; 

And  they  swell 
With  the  coming  of  life  to  these  hills 

Where  you  dwell, 

With  the  sweep  of  the  life-giving  rains 
Which  her  passion  distils 

From  the  pure,  sunlit  heavens  above  her. 

Speak  to  us.     Tell 
Of  the  secret  of  life  that  is  hers  ; 

How  it  stirs 
In  her  breast  that  was  stone  ; 

How  it  springs 
Into  life  in  the  heart  of  all  things, 

As  the  strength  of  the  sun,  her  great  lover, 


IN  THE  GIANT  FOREST  OF  THE  SIERRAS      29 

Softly  steals  her  white  garment  away, 
How  her  passion  pours  out  the  sweet  rain, 
Far  and  wide,  over  valley  and  plain, 

From  the  darkening  storm-clouds  that  cover 
Her  breast  from  the  bright  eye  of  day, 
As  a  veil  which  the  sky's  fairest  daughter, 

Who  was  born  of  the  foam  of  the  seas, 
From  her  birthplace  the  ocean  has  brought  her 

On  the  wings  of  the  westerly  breeze. 

Ye  guardians  who  treasure 

The  gracious  gift  of  rain, 

And  still  pour  forth  again, 
Age  after  age,  and  year  on  year 
In  bounteous  measure, 

Your  everlasting  fountains  ! 

Up  to  these  mountains,— 
Where  evermore  you  stand, 

Great  sentinels 
O'er  all  this  virgin  land, 

Guarding  your  sacred  wells,— 
We  come,  to  drink  of  these. 

O,  ye  great  trees  ! 
Who  lift  your  lofty  forms, 

And  gather  earth's  increase, 

And  reign  in  endless  peace 

Through  all  the  centuries, 
Amidst  the  passions  of  her  storms  ! 


AN  INAUGURATION  ODE 

(Dedicated  to  the  American  People) 


AN   INAUGURATION    ODE  33 


AN    INAUGURATION  ODE. 


UNDER  this  banner  of  ours,  unfurled 
To  the  winds  of  the  world, 

We,  by  God's  grace, 
Citizens,  Sovereigns,  lords  of  this  land, 

Fixing  on  you  for  our  choice, 

Give  you,  this  day,  high  place. 
And  the  nation's  voice,-— 

With  a  solemn  roar 
Like  the  murmur  of  wind  in  the  trees, 
With  the  might  of  the  surge  of  the  seas 

As  they  break  on  the  shore,— 
Gives  unto  you,  to  command 

Over  our  armies  of  peace, 
And  over  our  servants,  who  stand 

At  watch  in  the  house. 

Solemn  and  mutual  vows 

We  make  this  day  ; 
To  defend  our  fair  temple  of  state, 
To  protect  the  pure  spirit  of  laws, 


34  AN    INAUGURATION    ODE 

To  watch  and  to  pray 
Against  treason,  within  and  without : 

Within, — for  the  fate 
Of  all  our  unborn  generations 

Hangs  on  these  vows  we  make  ; 

Without, — for  our  cause, 

And  this  oath  which  you  take, 
Are  the  promise  of  peace  to  the  nations. 
For  our  war 

Is  the  light  against  war, 
And  the  strife  against  wrong  ; 
The  battle  of  youth  with  doubt, 

Of  life  with  death. 
And  our  song 

Is  the  battle  shout 
Of  a  mighty  army  of  peace  ; 

The  living  breath 
Of  new-born  harmonies, 

That  shall  be  sung 

In  every  human  tongue. 

This  is  the  oath  you  take, 
As  you  take  up  the  fight  against  wrong- 
To  defend, 
Even  unto  the  end, 
This,  our  cause  ;  this,  the  creed 

We  confess, 

That  Justice  and  Mercy  endure, 
With  righteousness  ; 


AN    INAUGURATION    ODE  35 

And  naught  else  is  sure, 

And  naught  less  ! 

Though  men  say 
These  are  dreams,  foolish  dreams  ; 

Though  the  way 
Through  the  desert  still  seems 
Blind,  perilous,  wearily,  endlessly  long, 
Shall  the  dust,  that  we  raise 
With  our  feet  on  the  long  trodden  ways 
Shut  out  all  the  light  of  our  days? 
Are  we  lost  then,  indeed? 
Shall  no  leader  be  found,  in  our  need  ? 
Is  this  then  our  life,  evermore  to  rehearse 

Those  tales  that  are  told 

Of  the  people  of  old, 
Who  were  faithless,  perverse, 
And    worshipped   strange   gods,    which    they 
wrought 

With  the  work  of  their  hands  ! 


Oh  ye, 
Ye  who  have  climbed  the  heights  and  sought 

The  Lord's  commands, 
The  table  of  that  law  which  sets  us  free, 
And,  coming  from  the  mountain,  as  of  old, 
Have  found  our  god  a  beast,  and  made  of  gold, 

Lead  us  onward  still  ! 
Give  us  strength  that  we, 


36  AN   INAUGURATION    ODE 

Out  of  our  very  weakness  and  our  fears, 

Make  strong  our  will  ; 

That  these  weak  hands  of  ours  may  yet  fulfil 
The  promise  of  the  years  ; 

And  seize  that  kingdom,  which  by  the  Lord's  decree 
Is  ours  to  win  ;  that  country  you  behold 
From  lonely  mountain  heights,  remote  and  cold  ! 

Shall  we,  whose  fathers  dared  to  smite 

From  off  their  limbs  and  lives 
Those  galling  gyves, 
Forged  in  the  night 
Of  Europe's  darkness,  and  fled 

That  ancient  tyranny 
Of  warring  kings, — shall  we  not  arise, 
And  cast  from  our  eyes 
Each  subtle  spell  that  blinds  our  sight  ; 
And,  from  our  hearts,  those  ancient  lies, 
False  visions  of  some  earthly  paradise  ; 
Those  fetters  of  the  soul  that  stay  our  might ; 
Those  flesh-pots  of  the  mind  ;  that  wandering  light 
Which  leads  where  no  true  hills  of  promise  rise  ! 

So  shall  we  see, 

When  the  true  vision  is  at  last  revealed, 
This  is  our  portion  in  that  promised  land  : 
A  sacred  soil,  to  till,  a  place  to  stand 
Against  the  Philistines  ;  a  battle-field, 
Where  we  must  fight  and  fall  ;  yea,  hand  in  hand 
Fight  on,  to  fall  again, — but  never  yield. 


AN    INAUGURATION    ODE 

Since  we  have  shunned  the  shadows  that  are  cast 

Upon  the  air,  mirages  of  the  sky  ; 

Since  now  at  last 

The  long,  long  dreary  desert  space  is  past  ; 
Shall  we  in  very  madness,  drunk  with  pride, 

Set  up  base  gods  on  high 
Within  the  market  place? 

Or,  seeking  grace 

To  guide, 

And  kneeling  down,  each  man  upon  his  hearth, 
Search  for  the  living  laws,  where  still  they  lie, 

Scattered  like  seeds  in  the  earth, 

Till  the  children  of  men, 
Toiling  beneath  the  sun, 

Shall  raise  them  up  again, 
One  by  one, 

As  by  a  second  birth, 
And  make  them  whole  at  last  ! 


Now  no  more,  as  of  old, 

Does  the  dust  of  our  striving  by  day 

Fill  the  sight  of  our  eyes 

With  confusion,  and  mock  us,  and  blind  us  ; 

Nor  shut  out  the  light  of  the  sun 

Ere  the  day's  work  is  done. 

For  the  wind  of  the  Lord  blows  behind  us, 

And  loud 

Is  the  sound  of  it  ; 


3**  AN   INAUGURATION    ODE 

And  as  it  was  writ, 
And  the  tale  thereof  told, 

See,  the  columns  of  dust  that  arise 
Are  become  as  a  pillar  of  cloud 

In  the  skies, 
To  point  our  the  way. 

And  our  cup  shall  run  o'er 

In  the  day  of  our  need, 
And  He  shall  restore 

And  make  whole, 
In  us  and  our  seed, 
The  great  living  soul 
Of  the  teeming 
World,  ever  dreaming 
Of  things  that  are  to  be. 

The  things  yet  to  be, — 
Are  the  things  we  must  do, 
To  be  constant  and  true 
To  our  vow. 
So,  here  and  now, 
We  bid  you  stand, 

Stand  and  receive  the  great  oath, — to  protect 
This  fair  temple  of  ours,  which  was  planned 
Through  the  ages  of  ages, 
By  the  mind  of  the  One 
Great  Architect  : 


AN   INAUGURATION    ODE  39 

This  dream  of  the  prophets  and  sages, 

By  whom  the  fair  work  was  begun  ; 
This  house  which  was  made 

By  men's  toil, 
And  the  work  of  their  hands, 

Here  under  the  sun  ; 
This  temple,  which  stands 
As  a  refuge  for  men  of  all  nations  : 

Whose  strong  foundations 

Forever  firm  are  laid 

In  the  free  soil 
Of  the  fertile  earth, 
And  in  every  heart,  on  every  hearth, 

Where'er  still  burn  the  sacred  fires 

Of  liberty  and  brothers'  love. 

And  this  living  wall 

Shall  never  move, 
These  lofty  towers 

Shall  never  fall, 
But  by  our  guilt, 

And  to  our  scathe, 
For  behold,  they  are  built 
Of  the  blood  of  our  sons  and  our  brothers, 
And  the  faith 
Of  our  mothers  ; 
And  their  glorious  strength  ever  rests 

In  the  graves  of  our  sires, 
And  in  our  daughters'  breasts. 


40  AN    INAUGURATION    ODE 

So  this  temple  of  ours, 
Which  was  made 

For  a  refuge  for  men, 
Shall  become  as  a  house  of  the  Lord. 
So  twice  was  it  saved  by  the  sword 

Of  our  fathers,  who  fell, 
In  their  faith's  fierce  endeavour, 

That  men  coming  after  might  dwell 

Therein,  unafraid, 
With  justice  and  mercv,  for  ever. 


LINCOLN'S    BIRTH  41 


LINCOLN'S    BIRTH. 

Feb.  12,  1809-1909. 

LINCOLN  !     Great  Heart  !     Again,  and  yet  again, 

Across  the  years,  we  call  upon  that  name. 

May  your  strong  spirit  keep  us  free  from  shame  ! 

Defender  of  the  faith  of  all  dead  men 

Who  died  for  freedom  !     Help  us  to  defend 
That  freedom  with  our  lives,  even  to  the  end  ! 

Yet,  all  these  children,  born  of  the  same  soil 
That  nourished  you, — you,  from  your  mother's  knee, 
With  roots  in  the  clean  earth  like  a  strong  tree, 
Straight  heavenward  upsprung, — shall  we  despoil 

The  children  of  their  birthright!     Hark,  O,  hark 
Those  little  ones,  still  crying  in  the  dark  ! 

Had  every  woman  but  her  due  reward, 

Each  workman  his  just  hire, — who  then  would  kneel, 

And  watch  his  children  broken  on  the  wheel 

His  own  hands  turn  !     O,  give  us  grace  to  guard 

These  little  souls  that  sink  beneath  our  laws  ! 

Call  forth  all  mother-love  to  serve  this  cause. 


42  LINCOLN'S    BIRTH 

If  man's  poor  justice  to  this  shame  is  blind, 
Bid  love's  pure  wisdom,  guarding  still  the  door 
And  gates  of  life,  through  all  these  states  restore 
Our  children's  birthright ;  bid  love's  justice  find 
Our  nation's  heart :  call  forth  that  sacred  band, 
That  mighty  host,  the  mothers  of  the  land  ! 


Out  from  the  love  that  bore  you,  through  that  voice, 
Which  in  our  mothers'  trembling  souls  awoke 
A  spark  of  quickening  fire,  your  great  heart  spoke 
Words  that  shall  make  all  children  to  rejoice, 
So  long  as  we  are  faithful,  and  shall  still 
Your  solemn  spoken  promises  fulfil. 

With  smiling  lips  you  gave  us  all  your  trust  ; 

From  your  sad  eyes  no  shame  of  ours  may  hide  : 

For  heavenly  justice,  lo,  you  lived,  and  died. 

Now,  under  God,  and  by  the  sacred  dust 
Of  those  we  mourn,  help  us  to  dedicate 
Our  lives  to  our  dear  land  all  consecrate  ! 


WHEN    CHAOS    DWELT    ON    EARTH  43 


WHEN   CHAOS    DWELT   ON   EARTH. 


WHEN  chaos  dwelt  on  earth,  a  mighty  god 
Was  born  ;  an  infant  god  and  blind.     No  gleam 
Of  light  was  there  ;  and  darkly,  as  a  dream, 
Did  life  appear,  and  fearful  shapes  that  trod 
One  on  another  down  into  the  sod, 
Whence  others  rose,  a  never-ending  stream. 
And  still  great  Love  is  blind,  and  life  doth  seem 
To  come  and  go,  while  he,  asleep,  doth  nod. 

But  lo  !  that  infant  god  who  seemeth  blind, 

He  only  from  vain  dreaming  shall  awake 

A  wondering  world.     Oh,  must  we  strive  to  break 

These  bonds,  whereby  our  vision  is  confined, 

Yet  many  weary  years  ; — or  simply  take 

The  word  ot  Love  for  all  that  lies  behind? 


44  TO    THE    GREAT    GOD    PAN 


TO  THE   GREAT  GOD   PAN. 


THOU  ancient  one  of  earth,  thou  god  of  all 

Who  breathe,  hear  thou  our  cry  !  Upon  this  crust 

Of  crumbling  earth  we  lie,  as  we  were  thrust, 

All  naked,  forth.     On  thy  dark  world  we  fall  ; 

Around  thine  altar,  infant-like,  we  crawl. 

Come  forth  from  out  thy  groves  !  Surely,  thou  must ! 

We  cannot  see  ;  our  eyes  are  rilled  with  dust,— 

We  hearken,  trembling,  for  thine  answering  call. 

We  are  but  mortal,  made  of  this  bare  mould 
Whereon  we  live,  and  die,  and  make  our  moan  ; — 
Which  thou  hast  heard,  and  on  thy  pipes  hast  blown 
Faint  answering  sounds  !  Thy  voice,  now,  as  of  old, 
Though  seeming  but  an  echo  of  our  own, 
Remotest  secrets  of  thy  heart  hath  told. 


T<>    HOMER  45 


TO    HOMER. 


BLIND  singer  of  the  world's  desire, 
Thy  world   is  ours.     Thy  song  Troy  town 
Built,  burned  ;  and  then  thy  lyre 
Burst  in  a  blaze  of  fire 
Seas  shall  not  drown. 

First  kindled  in  a  woman's  eyes, 

F'ire  burned  high  Troy  ;  and  beckoned  men 

From  home  ;  and  from  the  skies 

The  gods.      Those  flames  yet  rise, 

Year,  now  as  then. 

Yea,  now  as  then,  the  world's  desire. 
Though  hidden  from  us,  still    doth   dwell 
In  Helen's  heart  of  fire, 
And  breathes  upon  thy  lyre 
Her  mighty  spell. 

Against  new  gods  we  wage  our  wars, 
New  cities  build  or  burn  with  fire  ; 
And  still,  beneath  the  stars, 
We  beat  against  the  bars 
Of  blind  desire. 


46  TO    HOMER 

Our  world  is  thine.      New  wars  we  wage 
Under  old  skies.     Our  richest  wine 
Hath  savour  of  thine  age  : 
We  write  on  life's  last  page  ;— 
The  book  was  thine. 

Of  life's  brave  book  the  leaves  are  turned, 
And  as  we  read  we  wonder  how 
Thy  blinded  eyes  discerned 
Life's  hidden  fires, — that  burned 
Even  then  as  now. 

Oh  thou  who  first,  when  earth  was  young, 
Sangst  fate  defied  and  mortals  slain, 
Upon  that  honeyed  tongue 
How  sweet  thy  songs,  though  sung 
Of  mortal  pain  ! 

What  songs  have  we  thou  dost  not  sing, 
What  fates  thy  heart  hath  not  foretold? 
Breathe  thou  the  songs  we  bring  ! 
Bees  on  thy  mouth  still  cling, 
Now,  as  of  old. 


THE    SILENT   HEART  47 


THE   SILENT   HEART. 


UPON  what  mortal  lips  this  air  hath  stirred, — 
This  air  we  breathe  in  laughter  or  with  sighs,— 
In  what  immortal  strains,  or  with  what  word 
Of  life,  that  dies  not  though  the  sweet  song  dies  ! 
Though  the  bright  morning  stars  in  the  still  skies 
Stay  their  sweet  singing,  sphere  answering  sphere, 
Hush  ! — from  the  world's  deep  heart  doth  ever  rise 
That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 

How  long  the  stars  for  all  the  ages  hurled 
Silent  through  space,  while  yet  no  mortal  tongue 
Had  told  the  secrets  that  the  murmuring  world 
Whispered  her  many  children,  as  they  clung 
Close  to  her  bosom  !  Ye  whom  fate  hath  flung 
Prostrate  upon  the  ground  !  Oh  ye  with  ear 
Pressed  close  to  earth,  what  music  thence  hath  sprung  ! 
That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 

Beyond  the  sound  of  waters,  when  the  sea 
Beats  with  a  ceaseless  thunder  on  the  shore  ;— 
And,  with  unmeaning  moan,  eternally 
The  senseless  passion  of  his  life  shall  roar, 

D 


48  THE    SILENT    HEART 

Raging  in  froth  and  foam,  and  evermore 
Make  hollow  sound  ; — hark,  to  the  listening  ear 
Sweet  siren  voices  on  the  wide  air  pour 
That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 

Though  these  were  songs  no  man  might  hear,  and  live, 
What  then  !  Shall  you,  by  fear  of  death  deterred, 
Seek  death  in  life  !  'Oh  ye,  who  dare  to  give 
Life  and  the  world,  to  catch  one  strain,  unheard, 
Of  more  than  mortal  music  ;  which  hath  stirred 
Men's  hearts,  beyond  life's  hope,  or  death's  dark  fear ! 
The  world  awaiteth  still  that  magic  word, 
That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 

Ye  who,  with  silent  hearts,  shall  venture  where 

Those  siren  songs  your  very  souls  beguile, 

Shall  not  that  spell,  flung  on  the  breathless  air 

By  lovely  lips  that  sing  and  ever  smile, 

Be  very  breath  of  life  ?    Oh,  reconcile 

Your  hearts  to  silence  !    Your  reward  is  near  : 

Though  you  be  bound  with  burning  thongs  the  while, 

That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 

Ye  who  would  know  what  many  men  have  sought, 
In  vain,  or  finding,  found  therein  but  death, 
Though  you  are  bound  with  thongs  that  fate  hath  wrought 
Yet  be  not  mutinous  !    Lo,  every  breath 


THE    SILENT    HEART  49 

You  breathe  is  life  :  whereof,  what  mortal  saith 

It  is  a  burden,  his  harvest  falleth,  sere, 

Ere  it  be  ripe.     And  still  life  uttereth 

That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 

Winter  comes  soon  and  swift  the  year  grows  old, 
But  ye  whose  hearts  are  still  an  hungering, 
Who,  sowing,  reap  not,  but  with  love  untold 
Give  all  your  treasure  for  love's  offering  ! 
The  very  winds  shall  do  your  garnering  : 
And  while  our  harvests  perish  with  the  year, 
The  seed  you  sow  shall  make  another  spring. 
That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 


Ye  who,  desiring  much,  have  given  more  ! 
Lo,  all  your  harvest,  on  the  wide  air  sown, 
The  winds  that  scatter  shall  again  restore, 
An  hundred  fold  ;  yea,  and  to  you  alone 
Shall  be  the  secrets  of  the  sweet  earth  known, 
Borne  on  this  air,  far  sounding,  faint  and  clear, 
In  strains  that  Pan  upon  his  pipes  hath  blown  ; 
That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 

Among  the  groves,  and  up  the  mountain,  still 
We  follow,  where  you  lead,  with  eager  feet  ; 
Yet  hear  we  naught,  though  Echo  from  the  hill 
Answer  your  hearts  with  music  wondrous  sweet. 


SO  THE    SILENT    HEART 

But  you  go  far,  till  at  the  last  you  meet 
The  very  soul  of  things  ;  as  you  draw  near 
The  world's  deep  joy  within  your  hearts  shall  beat. 
That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 

ENVOI. 

YE  who  in  silence  suffer  for  love's  gain, 
And  swift  surrender  what  you  buy  so  dear, 
This  is  your  gift,  which  princes  seek  in  vain, — 
That  song  your  silent  hearts  alone  shall  hear. 


TO    F.    T.  51 


TO    F.  T. 


How  often,  dear,  since  first  our  spirits  met, 
But  still  in  vain,  my  hand  has  tried  to  trace 
One  living  line  of  all  the  mystic  grace 
And  beauty  that  is  thine  !     And  I  must,  yet 
Abide  the  time  when  I  shall  pay  that  debt 
Which  I  have  owed  to  time  since  thine  embrace 
First  freed  me  from  his  hand,  and  in  thy  face 
1  saw  that  light  whose  sun  doth  never  set. 

Blessed  the  day  when  first  I  caught  just  one 
Dear  look  of  thine,  such  as  thy  spirit  fleet 
Clothes  thee  withal,  as  with  the  golden  glow 
Of  Love's  far  speeding  but  still  constant  sun. 
I  am  borne  onward  ; — till  mine  eyes  shall  greet 
The  whole  wide  vision  that  my  heart  doth  know. 


THE    LIFE    SPIRIT 


THE    LIFE   SPIRIT. 


"And  from  the  soul  the  body  form  doth  take, 
For  soul  is  form  and  doth  the  body  make." 

"  For  earth  that  gives  the  milk  the  spirit  gives." 

WHOSE  is  the  finger  that  gives  form 

To  everything  that  lives  ? 

Whose  mystic  touch  turns  dark  earth's  dust 

To  Beauty's  flesh  and  blood  ? 

Whose  is  the  mind  that  made  the  Word 

By  which  a  thought  may  live, 

Whose  subtle  breath  shall  make  a  child 

The  prophet  of  all  time? 

Whose  is  the  hand  that  marks  the  hours 

With  the  sharp  knife  of  Time, 

And  with  our  lives  doth  measure  out 

The  life  of  Time  himself? 

What  is  the  force  of  awful  change 

That  brings  sweet  Life  to  death, 

And  gently  then,   raising  Death's  veil, 

Hints  larger  life  within? 

Thy  scarce  seen  footsteps  mark  the  path 

To  earth's  own  Paradise, 


THE    LIFE    SPIRIT  53 

Thy  heart-beat  sounds  the  melody 
And  measure  of  Life's  song  ! 
Still  let  me  ever  live  to  be 
A  servant  at  thy  shrine, 
Kissing  the  feet  that  lead  me  on, 
The  hand  that  bears  the  knife, 
Till,  with  my  head  close  to  thy  heart, 
I   catch  the  cadence  deep,  divine, 
Of  earth's  immortal  strain. 


54  OUT    OF    THE    SOUTH 


OUT   OF    THE   SOUTH. 

Out  of  the  South 
The  singing  bird 
Flies  North, 
Seeking  his  mate. 

Out  of  the  mouth 
The  winged  word 
Flies  forth, 
Beseeching  fate. 

In  some  far  land, 

Unseen,  unheard, 

The  silent  bird 

Sits  brooding  on  her  nest. 

On  some  far  strand, 
Though  seas  may  part 
The  silent  heart 
Broods  upon  love  confessed. 

The  cold  wind  blows 
Down  from  the  North, 
From  the  land  of  snows  ; 
The  bird  sings  now  as  then. 


OUT    OF    THE    SOUTH  55 

But  ah  !  who  knows 
What  word  comes  forth 
From  the  land  of  woes,— 
Or  when  love  comes  again  ! 

Let  be,  let  be  ! 
Across  the  sea, 
With  the  dying  year, 
The  bird  comes  a-singing, 

Ever  South,  ever  South  ; 
And  she  sings  of  her  young  that  are  fledged, 
And  her  mate 
That  is  fled  ! 

Though  the  heart  bear  no  young, 
Save  the  song  that  is  sung, 
Hear,  oh,  hear  ! 
The  words  that  go  winging 

From  mouth  unto  mouth, 
The  nurslings  of  love  that  were  pledged 
Against  fate, 
Are  not  dead. 


56  TO    POETRY— L 


TO    POETRY, 


I. 

The  love  I  bore  all  these  to  thee  I  bring, 
And  with  Love's  harvest  in  my  hand  I  wait, 
Content  to  kneel  beside  the  outer  gate 
Of  thy  dear  shrine.     And  if  thou,  opening 
The  door,  shouldst  bid  me  follow  thee,  and  fling 
My  little  handful  in, — or  soon  or  late,— 
Lo  !  it  is  thine.     To  thee  is  consecrate 
The  last  grain  gleaned  of  love's  own  garnering. 

Oh  !  take  the  gift,  and  open  wide  the  door : 
Pierce  me  with  all  the  magic  of  thine  eyes, 
And  in  mine  ears  thy  deathless  music  pour  ! 
When  this  my  heart  within  thy  bosom  lies, 
But  one  small  seed  is  added  to  thy  store  ;— 
And  thy  rose-garden  fills  the  farthest  skies  ! 


TO    POETRY—I L  57 


II. 

AH  !  hard  it  is  to  win  thy  meed  of  worth, 
The  consecration  born  of  service  true  ! 
The  sweetest  flower  that  e'er  thy  garden  knew 
From  Life's  dark  bed  and  bosom  had  its  birth  : 
And  who  would  serve  thee  well  upon  this  earth 
The  inmost  heart  of  the  world's  life  must  woo, 
From  Life's  hot  blood  distilling  purest  dew, — 
Lest  Love's  bright  arrows  bring  us  woe  and  dearth. 

I  fain  would  serve  thee  well,  with  skill  in  craft 
To  send  each  arrow  singing  to  its  aim. 
But,  oh  !  that  some  true  breath  of  life  may  waft 
My  words  in  secret  ways,  unknown  to  fame, 
So  that  to  one  warm  heart  some  slender  shaft 
Bear  its  swift  message  from  Life's  central  flame. 


58  TO    POETRY    III. 


III. 

CONDEMN  me  not  that  in  my  heart  concealed 
One  mighty  love  lies  hid  ;  nay,  though  thy  wrath 
Should  stay  my  footsteps  on  thy  garden  path, 
The  seed  that  blows  from  summer's  richest  field 
Springs  where  it  falls  :  and  so  my  heart  must  yield 
Some  scant  sweet  harvest  for  Life's  aftermath  ;— 
Top  warm  to  wait  the  winter's  cold,  it  hath, 
Within  thy  walls,  Love's  living  flower  revealed. 

Though  buried  deep  beneath  the  winter  snows 
Love's  plant  may  perish  not,  but  still  persists, 
And  through  each  seeming  change  of  life  must  bring 
Forth  seed,  and  increase  in  its  kind.     So  grows 
The  mystery  more  strange,  while  Love  resists 
The  hand  of  fate,  and  summer  follows  spring. 


CLOSE,     CLOSE    MY   HEART  59 


CLOSE,  CLOSE  MY   HEART. 


CLOSE,  close  my  heart  within  thy  heart  hath  lain, 
Some  few  brief  days,  some  few  sweet  hours  and  brief. 
What  fear  we  then  of  fate,  that  black-winged  thief? 
Who  feeds  on  lifeless  seeds  of  scattered  grain, 
Dead  hearts,  that  ne'er  have  known  love's  burning  pain 
The  birth  of  that  new  life,  whose  root  and  leaf 
And  flower  and  fruit  are  ours  ;  yea,  ours  the  grief 
Of  fallen  fruit,  and  tears  that  fall  like  rain. 

Our  souls,  long  severed,  now  shall  never  thirst. 

Since  from  our  hearts,  that  long  in  silence  sobbed, 

The  very  blood  of  love  and  life  hath  burst 

In  one  pure  stream.     Ah  love,  fate  hath  not  robbed 

Us  of  love's  fruit,  and  we  are  not  accurst, 

Since  deep  within  thy  heart  my  heart  hath  throbbed. 


60  LOVE    THE    GARDENER 


LOVE   THE    GARDENER. 


THY  beauty  was  a  bud  of  Love's  true  graft, 
Flower-like  of  birth,  as  flooding  all  thy  face 
The  quick  blood  rushed  to  meet  his  swift  embrace, 
When  to  thy  heart,  deep  even  to  the  haft 
He  sent  his  piercing  blade.     Oh,  perfect  craft  ! 
That  grievous  wound  hath  added  further  grace 
To  beauty's  self !    And  when  he  set  that  trace 
Of  tears  in  those  deep  eyes  the  great  god  laughed. 

The  heavenly  gardener  gazed  into  those  eyes, 
And  in  the  look  that  lay  there  he  hath  known 
His  master  touch,  the  life  that  is  his  own. 
So,  serving  him,  I  too  have  looked  where  lies 
Thy  beauty's  source,  reaping,  where  Love  hath  sown, 
The  heavenly  harvests  from  his  wounds  that  rise. 


BV   SOME    LIGHT    TOUCH  61 


BY    SOME    LIGHT   TOUCH. 


BY  some  light  touch  it  was  of  your 
Strong,  tender  hands,  and  the  strange  lure 
In  those  deep  eyes,  and  by  the  sound 
Of  your  sweet  voice,  that  I  was  bound 
As  by  some  spell,  both  fast  and  sure. 

But  since  my  heart  you  close  immure 
Within  the  cloister  of  that  pure 
White  breast,  you  heal  me  as  you  wound, 
By  some  light  touch. 

And  I  would  seek  no  other  cure, 
Nay,   in  that  prison,   I  abjure 
All  freedom,  since  the  way  I  found 
To  win  thy  love,  and  power  to  sound 
Thy  praise,  in  songs  that  may  endure, — 
By  some  light  touch. 


6a  YOU    WHISPERED,    LOVE 


YOU    WHISPERED,    LOVE. 


You  whispered,  love,  in  just  one  word, 
Secrets  I  long  had  passed  unheard, 
Faint  breathed  within  your  garden  close 
Far  borne  by  each  wild  wind  that  blows, 
While  I  lived  on  with  hopes  deferred. 

Long  years  in  this  cold  heart  interred 
Lay  one  deep  mystery  unstirred,— 
"As  summer  under  winter's  snowrs," 
You  whispered,  love. 

You  breathed  upon  me,  and  I  heard 
The  burden  sung  of  Love's  sweet  bird  ; 
The  secret  of  the  budding  rose 
Was  mine  :  the  rest — no  mortal  knows. 
You  whispered,  —  "Love!" 


FOR     YOU    AND    ME  63 


FOR    YOU   AND    ME. 


FOR  you  and  me  a  happy  lot 

Had  been  some  little  house,  a  plot 

Of  pleasant  flowers,  and  a  wall 

Where  vines  should   grow,  and  lizards  crawl 

When  summer  suns  beat  down  full  hot. 

There  had  we  lived,  and  never  sought 
To  see  beyond,  and  sighed  for  naught  ; 
No  need  of  noble  house  nor  hall 
For  you  and  me. 

If  now  beyond  or  crib  or  cot 

Our  house  be  grown,  sure,  I  know  not 

Why  griefs  should  grow,  or  pleasures  pall, 

Because  the  roof-tree  is  so  tall, 

Or  hearts  become  less  warm,  God  wot, 

F"or  you  and  me  ! 


64  LOVE'S    BLIND    EYES 


LOVE'S    BLIND    EYES. 


ALL  ye  who  would  be  great  and  wise, 

How  many  joys  ye  had  not  missed, 

Had  ye  but  seen  with  Love's  blind  eyes  ! 

But  "joy   possessed  for  ever  flies!" 
On  such  vile  doctrines  you  insist, 
All  ye  who  would  be  great  and  wise. 

Ye  slay  the  hours  as  they  arise  ; 

Cold  are  the  lips  ye  should  have  kissed, 

Had  ye  but  seen  with  Love's  blind  eyes. 

Slain  by  the  spirit  that  denies, 

Love  leaves  you  blind  indeed.     Oh,  list, 

All  ye  who  would  be  great  and  wise  ! 

When  ways  are  dark  and  daylight  dies, 
Ye  were  not  wand'ring  in  the  mist, 
Had  ye  but  seen  with  Love's  blind  eyes. 

Your  blindness  lacks  Love's  swift  surmise 
Ye  come  too  late  to  Life's  high  tryst, 
All  ye  who  would  be  great  and  wise, 
Had  ye  but  seen  with  Love's  blind  eyes. 


TO    THE    "MAIDEX"  65 


TO   THE    "MAIDEN." 

A    Statue   by    George    Gray    Barnard. 

WHAT  hand  ever  made  thee  ! 
Or  what  voice  bade  thee 

Up  from  old  earth  to  rise? 
Where,  till  the   night  was  gone. 
Still   waited  for  this  dawn 

Those  dreaming  eyes. 

Deep  in   the  darkness  bound, 
Sleeping  beneath  the  ground, 

Ages  untold  ; 
While  the  slow  ages  passed, 

Round  with  the  wide  earth  rolled, 
Darkly,  alone, 

Still  with  strong  chains  of  stone 
Wert  thou  held  fast. 

Say  what  strange  mortal  powers 

Now  have  unbound  thee  ; 
That  upon  earth  at  last 


66  TO    THE    "MAIDEN" 

Here  we  have  found  thee, 
Fairest  of  mortal   flowers 
From  earth  upspringing  ! 

Close,    close  unto  earth 

With  soft  hands  clinging, 
Tell  us  what  secret  birth 

Brought  and  is  bringing 
Out  of  the  dark  of  night 

Up  from   the  weight  of  years, 
Thy  flower-like  body,  white, 
And  to  our  eyes,  these  tears, 

And  to  our  hearts,  delight ! 

Oh,  never   wast  thou  flung 

Down  from  the  skies, 
Or  from  some  distant  sphere. 
But  here, 

Here  upon  earth, — 

Whence  like  a  flower  thou  art  sprung, 
Thou  hadst  thy  birth  ! 

Like  the  sap  in  the  tree 

As  it  stirs, 

All  her  life  is   in   thee, 
And  all  secrets  of  hers 
Become  ours, 
Like  the  flowers 
That  the  summer  hath  brought. 


TO    THE    "MAIDEN"  67 

For  a  mortal  man  sought 

In  her  heart  and  his  own, 
And  a  mortal  hand  wrought 

Thy  fair  body  in  stone, — 
Till  a  vision  of  infinite  beauty 

To  our  eyes  hath  been  shown, 

In  the  light  of  thy  face, 
And  the  passion  of  infinite  power, 

Which  in   earth  hath  its  root,— 

Hath  borne  fruit 
Of  delight 

In   thy  delicate  grace. 

Like  a  rose 

But  half  budded, 

Thy  body  is  flooded 

With  life.     Yea,  the  night 

Now  is  gone, 
And  the  light 

Of  the  heavens  at  dawn 
Through  thine  eyelids  hath  shone, 
As  they  close 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  rose. 

And  the  light  that  is  thrown 

O'er  thy  body  so  pale 

Is  a  magical  veil  ; 
And  through  that  strange  mesh 

Thy  body  of  stone 

Is  all  vvondrously  grown 


68  TO    THE    "MAIDEN" 

Unto  flesh,-— 

And  immortally  human. 
From  thy  prison 

Of  stone 
Thou  art  risen, 
As  a  seed  that  was  sown,— 
As  a  maid  become  woman  ! 


VENUS     V1CTRIX  69 


VENUS    VICTRIX. 


WHEN  many  years  arc  gone  of  drought  and  dearth, 

Shalt  thou  not  struggle  to  the  light  again 

From  forth  our  mighty  mother's  breast?    And  when, 

Lying  like  us  upon  the  lap  of  earth, 

We  know  thee  daughter  of  our  common  birth, 

But  beautiful,  and  free,  how  shall  we  then 

Still  fear  that  chain,  by  which  thou  bindest  men, 

Thy  girdle  woven  of  all  woe  and  mirth  ? 

And  when  from  out  thine  opening  eyes  doth  peer 
The  wonder  of  all  life,  and  through  thy  form 
Surgeth  the  sea  of  earthly  passions'  storm, 
Then  shalt  thou  draw  us  to  thy  heart  full  near  ; 
No  shame  of  ours  thy  beauty  shall  deform, 
And  we,  bound  in  thy  toils,  shall  hold  them  dear. 


TO    "THE    VENUS    OF    MILO" 


TO    "THE    VENUS    OF    MILO." 
(VENUS  GENETRIX). 

WE  dare  not  hope  to  reach  thy  lofty  place, 
Nor  with  dark  Fate  to  be  quite  reconciled. 
Thy  seeming  sightless  eyes,  benignly  mild 
As  of  the  early  gods,  or  of  some  race 
Of  men  almost  divine,  look  into  space 
Beyond  our  mortal  vision  ;  with  no*wild, 
Swift  passion  torn,  so  hast  thou  ever  smiled, — 
Great  love,  immortal,  lighting  thy  calm  face. 

Born  of  the  womb  of  earth,  who  doth  beguile 
Both  gods  and  men  to  woo  her,  for  all  time 
Thou  art  a  thing  of  worship.     Ah,  sublime 
Mother  of  men  !     We  may  not  reconcile 
The  darkness  with  the  dream  ;  yet  still  we  climb 
The  starlit  heights  to  win  thy  sacred  smile. 


THE    EARTH    SONG 


THE    EARTH    SONG. 


EARTH  sings  her  song  ;  wherein,  if  any  sound 
Of  seeming  discord  dwells,  'tis  thus  life  shows 
The  imperfection  of  each  thing  that  grows. 
The  sweetest  fruit  in  all  earth's  garden  found 
Was  bitter  once.     Born  from  the  blackest  ground, 
And  blooming  on  her  thorny  tree,  the  rose, 
The  fairest  flower  that  in  the  garden  blows, 
Bears  a  sweet  balm  to  heal  life's  deepest  wound. 

Though  weary  be  our  toil,  our  wanderings  long, 
At  last,  concealed  within  life's  fallen  fruit, 
May  fall  some  fertile  seed,  whereof  shall  shoot 
Life's  healing  flower,  to  make  our  faint  hearts  strong. 
The  sweetest  herbs  have  oft  a  bitter  root, 
And  out  of  grief  shall  rise  our  sweetest  song. 


72  TO    ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON 


TO    ROBERT   LOUIS   STEVENSON. 


THOU  spirit  strong,  who  late  in  English  ships 
Didst  bear  our  English  tongue  to  the  last  reach 
Of  this  world's  farthest  sea,  thou  hast  for  each 
Live  man  of  us  pushed  back  the  line  where  slips 
This  self  into  the  dark,  as  the  sun  dips 
Into  the  sea  ;  and  set  on  that  far  beach 
A  brave  new  standard  for  our  English  speech  : — 
Or  sounds  the  old  so  new  upon  thy  lips  ? 

Like  men  of  old,  deep  hast  thou  gazed  within 

Thy  soul  ;  aye  !  deep  within  that  fatal  urn 

Where  souls  of  men  are  made,  where  toss  and  spin 

The  leaves  of  destiny.     Yet  thine  eyes  turn 

To  us  at  last  as  with  a  child's  calm  gaze  ; 

And  little  children  wait  on  all  thy  ways. 


IN    MEMORIAM  73 


IN    MEMORIAM. 


ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 
(The  Light-House  Builders  Son.) 

BEHOLD  !  a  tower  of  light  !  where  stood  before 
The  flickering  flame  that  led  our  fathers  home. 
Then  shall  there  be,  upon  the  sea,  no  more 
Of  faith  in  heaven's  tires  ;  shall  froth  and  foam 
And  misty  cloud  for  ever  from  our  sight 
Conceal  the  stars  and  hide  their  heavenly  light? 

Born  of  the  blood  of  them  who  builded  higher 
The  house  of  light  upon  the  homeward  shore, 
Comes  one  with  eyes  far  fixed  upon  that  fire 
Which  beckons  ever  on  the  deep  ;  once  more 
On  seas  unknown  we  sail,  while  he  beguiles 
Our  hearts  with  words  of  new-found  fairy  isles. 

And  so  with  him  upon  the  sea's  bright  strand, 
Forgetful  of  the  tide  and  of  the  wave, 
Like  children  there  we  builded  on  the  sand 
Our  cherished  treasure  houses.     Ah  !  how  brave 
That  heart !    As  with  the  courage  of  a  child 
He  led  us  on,  and  all  our  hearts  beguiled. 


74  IN    MEMORIAM 

He  takes  us  boldly  past  the  harbor  bar, 

And  floating  through  the  reefs  and  round  the  shoals, 

He  shows  us  where  the  wrecks  of  winter  are, 

All  through  the  summer  seas  ;  and  where  men's  souls 

Lie  wrecked,  he  steers  straight  on,  through  darkest  night 

And  starless  skies,  led  by  an  inward  light. 

No  wandering  fire  he  follows.     Nay  !  that  heart 
Turns  like  a  compass  to  life's  constant  source. 
Though  danger  threaten  us  on  every  part, 
And  sun  and  stars  should  fail,  the  secret  force, 
That  fills  the  world  with  light  and  life  and  love, 
Holds  true  his  heart,  which  tempests  may  not  move. 

Fate's  wheel,  just  touched,  moves  hidden  chains  that  rule 

The  lives  of  men  !    Our  captain  owns  no  whip 

But  strength  in  gentleness.     If  some  poor  fool 

Be  rashly  mutinous, — as  on  our  ship, 

Alas  !  so  many  are, — each  foolish  heart 

He  chides,  unrolling  wide  life's  fateful  chart. 


Gladly  we  give  him  service.     Let  us  keep 

This  last  long  watch  with  him  !    The  night  is  come, 

The  sails  are  set  upon  an  unknown  deep. 

That  light  which  led  us  outward  from  the  home 

Our  fathers  made  he  ne'er  may  see  again  :— 

But  he  hath  set  new  fires  within  the  hearts  of  men  ! 


IN    MEMORIAM  75 

Well  may  we  bear  him  tribute.     Golden  sails 
Take  forth  our  treasure  to  the  sunset  sea. 
The  strong  sweet  wind  that  swells  them  never  fails, 
And  with  a  braver  faith,  our  hearts  shall  be 
Upborne  by  that  pure  breath  which  in  his  words 
Still  lives,  as  on  great  seawinds  soar  the  gray-winged 
birds. 


76  TO    A    LAUREATE    OF    EMPIRE 


TO   A    LAUREATE   OF    EMPIRE. 


You  sing  to  us  the  song  of  steam, 
And  true  romance  ;  our  world  is  yours  : 
You  draw  things  as  they  seem  ; 
What  know  we  if  the  dream 
Dies  or  endures  ? 

You  set  forth  with  the  rising  sun, 

And  watched  your  brothers  as  they  wrought  ; 

So  they  may  read  who  run, 

You  told  of  work  well  done, 

Battles  well  fought. 

On  every  little  thing  and  dear 
You  set  the  mark  of  true  romance  : 
And  wondrous  true  and  clear 
The  forms  of  things  appear 
To  your  quick  glance. 

Out  of  the  sunrise  in  the  East 

You  came  and  made  our  dreams  come  true  ; 

And  made  us,  great  and  least, 

Each  man  and  boy,  and  beast, 

All  friends  to  you. 


TO    A     LAV  RE  AT  R    OF    EMPIRE  77 

We  lived  those  dreams  you  made  so  real, 
Those  songs  of  yours  we  long-  had  sung  : 
Our  very  hearts  you  steal  ; 
What  then  !    You  made  us  feel 
The  world  is  young. 

The  world  is  young.     You  found  it  out 
While  others  swore  'twas  sick  and  cold  ; 
Our  faith  no  man  shall  flout ; 
The  things  we  care  about 
Are  never  old  ! 


Then,  in  old  jars  you  poured  new  wine  ! 
Though  it  was  strong,  we  did  not  shrink, 
Unto  our  royal  line, 
And  all  our  rights  divine, 
Long  life  to  drink. 

We  dreamed  the  world  was  ours  ;  that  draught 
Swift  made  it  so — as  in  our  vision. 
The  cup  of  blood  we  quaffed, 
And  at  the  whole  world  laughed 
With  wild  derision. 


The  Lord  of  Hosts  was  with  us  still  ;— 
Let  pagans  worship  wandering  Pan  ;— 
So  we,  by  His  good  will 
The  heathen  slew  ; — we  kill 
For  the  Great  Plan  ! 


78  TO    A    LAUREATE    OF   EMPIRE 

We  bade  them  turn  and  kiss  the  rod, 
Forget  their  passion  and  their  panic, 
Forget  they  were  down  trod  : 
Nor  see  in  our  great  God 
A  Thing  mechanic. 


Were  your  romance  then  but  a  mist 
To  veil  from  us  God's  law  and  love, 
'Twere  better  you  had  missed 
The  mark  ;  nay,  in  the  list 
Ne'er  thrown  your  glove. 

Oh,  better  had  our  hands  but  shook, 

And  spilled  the  wine  !     Not  now  with  laughter, 

But  through  our  tears  we  look, 

Deep,  deep  within  Life's  book, 

Before  and  after. 

Think  you  we  have  not  understood 
The  spirit  of  your  spoken  word? 
We  know  the  wine  is  good  : 
Being  our  very  blood, 
That  you  so  stirred. 

The  wine  is  pure  :    but  in  the  jar 
Were  left  the  old  wine's  bitter  lees, 
Whose  bitterness  shall  mar 
The  vintage  new,  while  war 
Still  taints  the  seas. 


TO    A    LAUREATE    OF   EMPIRE  79 

O  that  our  war  at  last  may  cease  ! 
That  we  may  find  new  bottles  then, 
Wherein  the  years  of  peace 
Shall  pour  the  Earth's  increase 
Of  joy  for  men  ! 

You  praise  our  work :   why  then  we'll  pray 
For  power  to  make,  and  better  mould, 
New  jars  of  sweet  earth's  clay, 
Those  others  put  away, 
Men  made  of  old. 


So  FULFILMENT 


FULFILMENT. 


THOU  living  God  !     We  know  Thou  art 
Within  each  truly  humble  heart  : 
We  know  Thou  dost  not  dwell  apart 

From  perfect  Love.     Thy  great  love  hath 
Shown  us  Thy  wisdom's  better  path  ;— 
How  shall  we  hope  to  stay  Thy  wrath  ! 

Thy  fear  hath  shaken  hands  that  reek 
With  brother's  blood,  and  still  would  seek 
To  hold  their  birthright  from  the  meek. 


\Vhat  !   are  we  for  ever  fated 
On  a  dying  world  belated, 
Still  to  hate  as  we  are  hated  ? 

Are  we  still  our  brother  selling 

To  the  death?     Shall  love's  upwelling 

Soul  still  find  no  earthly  dwelling? 


FULFILMENT  81 

Hast  Thou  our  brother's  pleading  heard, 
Since  in  our  hearts  the  ancient  word 
Of  sacrifice  hath  once  more  stirred  ? 

Once  more  to  us  a  voice  is  sent, 
Crying  from  out  the  wild,   "Repent! 
44  Repent ! ''  and  evermore  *'  Repent !  " 

Ah  !    to  repent  were  but  remorse, 
Without  Thy  Love.     A  water  course 
May  rise  no  higher  than  its  source. 

We  know  Thou  gavest  length  of  days, 

Freedom  to  walk  along  the  ways 

Of  Thine  own  love — and  for  Thy  praise. 

We  know,  O  Lord,  the  passing  hours 
Thine  angels  are,  with  awful  powers 
To  make  Thy  life  at  one  with  ours. 

Then  spare  us,   Lord  !    if  through  the  din 
Of  wasteful  wars  we  fail  to  win 
The  way  Thy  wisdom  leads  us  in. 

Without  Thy  law  of  Love,  Oh  God  ! 
Well  may  we  bend  beneath  the  rod, 
Yea  !  bow  our  foreheads  to  the  sod. 

Ye  sons  of  Abraham's  true  seed, 
Beware  !    the  boast  of  blood  and  breed 
Shall  fail  you  in  your  utmost  need. 


82  FULFILMENT 

Up  from  these  very  stones  shall  rise 
True  sons  of  God.     Beneath  these  skies 
There  is  one  law, — one  sacrifice  ! 

Hath  He  been  offered  up  in  vain, 
That  Holy  One  ?     Or  was  He  slain 
Indeed  ?     Shall  Christ  not  come  again  ? 

Have  we  forgot?     Shall  we  forget 
His  law  of  love?     Oh  !    live  we  yet 
Under  the  law  of  blood  and  sweat? 

Thou  God  of  Love  !     Be  with  us  still ! 
Maker  of  worlds  !     Make  Thou  our  will 
At  one  with  Thine.     Thy  law  fulfil  ! 


A    FRAGMENT  83 


A    FRAGMENT. 


OUT  from  the  garden  where  the  birds  still  sing, 
Where  beauty  dwells  among  the  budding  roses 
And  nodding  poppy  flowers  that  swiftly  bring 
Their  sleep  upon  us  when  the  bright  day  closes — 
I  am  called  forth.     As  in  a  dream  I  go 
To  join  that  host  who  on  the  river's  brink 
Worship  the  sacred  stream.     I  may  not  know 
What  measure  is  for  me  ; — nor  shall  I  shrink. 
I  fall  upon  the  shore,  and  with  my  hand 
Make  me  a  cup,  and  dip  it  in  and  drink 
To  quench  this  burning  thirst.     Now  on  the  strand, 
With  steadfast  gaze  bent  on  that  sacred  stream, 
Comes  one  who  holds  a  glass,  wherefrom  white  sand 
And  black  commingled  runs,  whose  dull  grains  seem 
Like  falling  seeds,  to  quicken  with  the  birth 
Of  coming  life  ; — and  now  it  is  no  dream  ! 
For  this  grey  sand,  mixed  with  the  moist  sweet  earth 
That  banks  the  river  up,  brings  forth  rare  flowers, 
And  far  along  the  shore,  where  all  was  dearth, 
A  garden  blooms :  and  fresh  as  morning  hours 
And  young  as  youth,  goes  forth  upon  the  grass 
That  shining  one,  who  pours  unceasing  showers 
Of  sand,  both  white  and  black,  from  a  full  glass  ;— 
Whose  name  is  Time. 


S4  TIME 


TIME. 


TIME  is  the  mighty  master  of  us  all  : 

Upon  his  coining  and  his  going  wait 

Love,  and  swift  death,  and  day  and  night,— and  fate. 

Princes  and  flowers  before  his  sickle  fall, 

Who  round  kings'  gardens  made  a  prison  wall  ; 

Beggars  by  him  are  brought  to  high  estate  ; 

And  his  alone  the  skill  to  modulate 

Life's  broken  stops  to  measures  musical. 

O,  love  !     Though  we  may  never  hear  the  sweet, 

Full,  final,  perfect  chord,  yet  this  strange  gift 

Is  ours  ; — even  in  one  moment's  breathless,  swift, 

Heart-breaking  pause, —to  catch  the  throb  and  beat 

Of  that  immortal  strain,  which  shall  uplift, 

Through  Time's  long  years,  tired  mortals'  weary  feet. 


WITH    BURNING    HEARTS  8s 


WITH    BURNING    HEARTS. 


WITH  burning  hearts  for  ever  we  aspire 

To  pour  love's  precious  metal,  like  pure  gold, 

Within  the  lips  of  life's  immortal  mould. 

And  though  our  hands  have  shaken  with  desire, 

And  spilled  some  drops,  and  failed  to  make  entire 

The  perfect  image  ;  even  so,  behold, 

We  are  Life's  artisans  !  The  world  were  cold 

But  that  our  hearts  have  burned  with  such  a  fire. 

And  since  for  beauty's  sake  my  soul  hath  burned, 
Though  I  the  perfect  mould  may  never  fill, 
Yet  shall  I  feed  that  fire,  with  fire,  until, 
When  the  great  master's  hand  hath  overturned 
The  clay,  perchance  in  these  poor  drops  I  spill 
Shall  be  my  hope  ;  and  I  may  not  be  spurned. 


86  WHEN   GOD    WAS  NEAR 


WHEN    GOD    WAS    NEAR. 


LOVE,  the  great  Giver,  when  on  earth 
Some  woman,  midst  the  pangs  of  birth, 

First  felt  his  joyous  power, 

Gave  her  the  two-fold  dower, 
Of  grief,  and  mirth. 

Through  the  fierce  hunter-father  rushed 
What  joy,  as  first  she  smiled,  and  flushed 

Red  as  that  fire  she  kept ! 

What  fear  came,  when  she  wept, 
To  hold  him  hushed  ! 

What  strange  new  power  now  held  him  bound, 
Whose  strength  was  ever  girt  around 

With  shadowy  forms  that  rose 

In  dreams,  and  with  dark  foes 
Born  of  the  ground  ! 

With  shapes  of  fear  he  learned  to  fill 
The  woods  and  caves  of  earth,  until 

Each  rock  and  tree  became 

A  spirit,  and  a  Name 
Of  good  or  ill. 


WHEN   GOD    WAS  NEAR  87 

What  nameless  Presence,  shining,  bright, 
Stood  for  a  moment  in  his  sight, 

When  first  that  mother  smiled 

And  wept  ;    and  round  the  child 
Shone  a  great  light  ! 

Lo,  when  that  woman  felt  the  sheer 
Joy  of  Love's  new-born  life,  the  tear 

That  came  into  her  eyes 

Was  Love's  first  sacrifice  : — 
The  God  stood  near. 

The  God  who,  born  before  dear  earth, 
Our  mother,  through  fierce  pangs  of  birth, 

Brought  forth  hope's  brighter  flower, 

Gave  her  that  double  dower 
Of  grief  and  mirth  ; 

When  Zeus,  who  knew  not  woe,  was  dead, 
And  Phoebus  from  the  mountain  fled, 

Out  of  men's  growing  fears, 

By  the  salt  stream  of  tears 
That  woman  shed, 

He  made  new  life  leap  from  the  sod, 
And  woke  the  buds  on  Joseph's  rod, 

And  with  wild  Orphic  lays 

Led  men  unto  the  ways 
That  Jesus  trod. 

G 


88  WHEN   GOD    WAS  NEAR 

He  who  made  life  made  life  divine, 
And  tipped  with  holy  fire  the  pine 

Which  from  the  darkest  eld 

Great  Dionysus  held  : 

In  whose  dark  shrine 

That  fire  of  human  hope  once  burned, 
Which  came  to  earth  in  One  who  turned 
The  water  into  wine, 
Who  blessed  the  growing  vine  ; 
And  never  spurned 

That  woman  who  had  overmuch 
Loved,  for  the  hearts  of  even  such, 

When  at  His  feet  they  knelt 

In  love's  true  faith,  first  felt 
His  healing  touch  ; 

Who  to  the  little  children  said 

4  *  Come  unto  me";  whose  word  shall  spread 
Wider  than  home  or  hearth, 
Through  all  the  fertile  earth 
On  Love's  wings  sped. 

He  lived  to  bear  the  cold  world's  scorn, 
And  brought  new  life  to  them  that  mourn, 

And,  to  the  weary,   rest  ; 

Him,  on  a  woman's  breast, 
Her  love  had  borne. 


WHEN   GOD    WAS  NEAR  89 

And  where  her  hands  in  life's  deep  urn 

First  caught  those  fires  that  smouldering  burn, 

Through  all  the  long,   dim  years, 

Amidst  men's  ancient  tears, 
We  might  discern 

A  temple  rising,   radiant,   free 
Unto  the  earth,  and  sky,  and  sea, 

For  all  to  enter  where 

Dwells  in  the  open  air 
That  Deity, 

That  Spirit,  which  still  wandereth 

Up  through  the  gates  of  life  and  death, 

Lighting  the  ways  of  men 

A  little  time,  and  then 

Gone,   like  a  breath  ; 

Which,  ever  wandering  like  the  wind, 
Our  feet  still  follow,  till  we  find, 

Almost  beyond  our  reach, 

A  wonder,   in  men's  speech, 
A  word,  enshrined 

In  women's  hearts  ;  a  deathless  spark 
Of  Love's  pure  light,   which  yet  shall   mark 
The  way  the  world  must  turn, 
Though  the  great  Sun  should  burn 
Out,  in  the  dark. 


90  NOTES    TO    "  PAESTUM" 


NOTES. 


1  biferique  rosaria  Paesti." — Virgil  "  Georgics." 

2  We  do  the  same  as  the  men  of  Poseidenia,  who  dwell  on  the  Tyr 
rhenian  Gulf.     It  befell  them,  having-  been  at  first  true  Hellenes,  to  be 
utterly  barbarised,  changing-  to  Tyrrhenes  or  Romans,  and  altering- their 
language,    together   with  other  customs.      Yet  they  still  observe  one 
Hellenic  festival,  when  they  meet  together  and  call  to  remembrance 
their  old  names  and  bygone  institutions  ;    and  having  lamented  one  to 
the  other,  and  shed  bitter  tears,  they  afterwards  depart  to  their  own 
homes. 

Even  thus  a  few  of  us  also,  now  that  our  theatres  have  been  barbar 
ised,  and  this  art  of  music  has  gone  to  ruin  and  vulgarity,  meet  together 
and  remember  what  once  music  was. — Aristoxenus  of  Tarentiim. 


a 


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M191913 


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